


Titans: A New Beginning

by SirFangirl



Series: Titans Rework [1]
Category: Teen Titans - All Media Types, Titans (Comics)
Genre: Anyways, Dick Grayson eventually becomes Nightwing don't worry, Police Officer Dick Grayson, Rated M for language, all the titans are young adults, because I'm petty, it's set in Blüdhaven btw, probably will add more tags as i go, so i'm making a fanfic out of what i'd want for a titans series, the titans live action trailer made me bitter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 08:56:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15385278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirFangirl/pseuds/SirFangirl
Summary: Five young adults, each with extraordinary abilities, find themselves protecting the city of Blüdhaven together from a formidable adversary.





	Titans: A New Beginning

Pulsing lights, a bumping bass, and dancing bodies fill the club nestled in the city of Blüdhaven. The people inside are high - high on euphoria, high on alcohol, high on drugs consumed in the restrooms. Whatever they’re high on, the people are having fun that they don’t have in their daytime lives. Right now, the world is this club, and the people don’t see what’s happening outside their world.

* * *

 

Right outside of the club, on the edge of the world of the people inside, is a young man. His glassy eyes stare up at the dawning sky. His expression is one of fear and defeat. The man’s arms are spread against the wall, held up by duct tape that’s desperately clinging to the concrete wall. The position of his arms are meant to reveal something, and a look at his torso shows what that is. Angry, red slashes stain the blue shirt the man wears. The slashes look like they were placed there with careful precision and planning. Whoever did this to the man wasn’t a rabid animal with a bloodlust; this was the work of someone with a message. 

* * *

 

The alarm goes off with a high-pitched _beep beep beep_ , and the hand of the person the alarm woke up is quick to hit the off button. Dick Grayson rises out of his bed, too awake for someone who’s alarm just sounded. Dick’s always been a bit of an early riser, but he keeps the alarm on in the event that he does sleep in.

Drying his wet hair with a towel, Dick grabs his phone off of the sink. His screen informs him of a voicemail from Alfred that he must have left while Dick was still in the shower. 

“Master Dick, I’m calling to tell you that I found a store in Blüdhaven that sells the Kevlar material you needed. I’m sure you would have found it on your own, but I thought you’d want to get the materials as soon as possible. If you need anything else, don’t be hesitant to ask. And no, Master Bruce does not know of this.”

The voicemail ends. Dick hovers his thumb over the call back option on his phone, but then his phone displays an incoming call from his boss, Captain Bullock.

“Grayson, I need you down at the Red Velvet Club down on East Main ASAP. There’s been a homicide.”

* * *

 

The alley beside the Red Velvet Club is blocked off by police tape and police officers. Dick approaches his fellow officers, pulling up on the collar of his jacket. It’s particularly cold in late-October Blüdhaven, and it shows through all of the officers wearing their standard-issue jackets.

“Morning, Grayson,” greets one of the officers, Officer Rooney.

“Morning.” Dick peers over Rooney to the crime scene, “What happened there?”

“Well, obviously a murder. It looks like the victim’s Anthony Harris.”

“Of the Harris family?”

“Uh-huh.” The Harris family is one of the few families in Blüdhaven with a legacy that almost dates back to the beginning of Blüdhaven. There are other families than the Harrises, but many of them moved out, unable to deal with the high crime of their hometown.

“Sounds like it’ll be a rough week for the Harris family,” Dick comments.

Officer Thompson, who’s been standing next to Rooney, chortles, “They’ll be fine. The kid was an ungrateful ass, so it’s good riddance for them.”

Dick refrains from rolling his eyes, “Yeah, okay.” Even if the Harris family didn’t like Anthony, Dick believes they’d still be affected by his death. “How was he an ungrateful ass?”

“The kid grew up in one of Blüdhaven’s wealthiest families, and he just tells his family to fuck off. And for what? So he could become some regular-ass Blüdhaven citizen? Most people would have killed to have his privileged life.”

This time, Dick _really_ has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Even with Thompson’s biased statement, Dick can tell that Anthony only wanted to leave his family behind because of their legacy. Anthony only wanted to be his own person, not someone living in the shadow of someone else’s wealth or power or name. Dick knows the feeling all too well.

“I think he just wanted to be his own person,” he states.

“Yeah, until his bank account was empty. Then he’d come crawling back to Mommy and Daddy.”

“You know, Thompson, you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. At least, not when his body is ten feet away from you,” Dick remarks bluntly.

Thompson rolls his eyes, “Whatever, Grayson.” He walks away, “I’m gonna warm up in the squad car. Can’t stand this damn cold…”

This time, Dick does roll his eyes behind Thompson’s back.

“Don’t mind him. He’s cranky in the morning,” Rooney quips.

“You think so?”

Rooney chuckles for a moment. “You really think that about him?” she asks.

“It’s possible. Unlike what Thompson thinks, not every rich kid’s an insatiable asshole.”

“Including you?”

Dick pauses for a moment, surprised by the question, before smiling in a carefree manner, “You know, sometimes I forget you’re from Gotham.”

“Is that so? Well, I must really fit into this town.” Rooney glances over at the crime scene before looking at Dick, “So, you got any plans tonight?”

Dick holds in a sigh. Rooney’s a nice girl, but not someone he’d want to go on a date with, mainly due to the risk of her becoming too involved in his personal life. Besides, he does have plans. “Actually, I do. Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright. I was just wondering,” Rooney says, looking ahead now. Dick does the same. “So, have you come up with any theories on what happened?” Rooney asks suddenly, perhaps to cover up the awkwardness from earlier.

“Well…” Dick looks back at the crime scene. The man he now recognizes as Anthony Harris is still against the wall via duct tape to his wrists. A bruise has blossomed on his cheek, and across his stomach are eight - no, ten - slashes that have stained his shirt. “Obviously, the killer wanted the victim’s wounds to be seen, given the duct tape. Considering the fact that his eyes are open, the victim was awake but disoriented, if the bruise is any indication.” Dick looks at the side of the alley opposite of Anthony, “He wasn’t at the club before he was murdered.”

“He wasn’t?” Rooney questions, intrigued by Dick’s analysis.

“No, because he’s positioned directly across from the door of the other building. The killer must have pushed him out of there and into the wall of the Red Velvet. What’s that building?”

“It’s a twenty-four-hour coffee shop. It’s been around longer than the club has.”

“Well, if it’s open twenty-four hours, then perhaps someone should look for suspects there.” Dick looks away from the crime scene and to Rooney, who looks at him incredulously. “What?”

“I just figured you’d state the obvious, but clearly you’re trying to do some detective shit here.”

Perhaps Dick’s let on a little too much about his skills. “I watched _Sherlock_ a lot.”

Rooney chuckles, “Alright. You sure you should stay as an officer, though? You’d probably get things done faster for all of us if you were a detective.”

She’s probably right, but Dick would also be too good of a detective. He had to hold back in almost everything in the police academy, and he’s not going to let up now. “Well, usually when you ask for a promotion, your boss doesn’t think you deserve it.”

* * *

 

After sharing the information about the coffee shop to the detective at the scene, Dick found himself following Detective Song into Bertie’s. Detective Song doesn’t really need Dick around, but she’s another person in the BPD that recognizes Dick’s “squandered” potential. So, she’s letting Dick get some experience, perhaps shadowing her, which Dick is used to. Right now, she’s ordering a chai latte with foam. The barista - a man almost as old as Alfred, as Dick notices - takes the detective’s payment and quickly makes the drink. 

“So, are you Bertie?” Detective Song asks.

“Yes, I am,” Bertie responds. His voice sounds friendly and calm, but Dick notices the shake in his hands as he hands Detective Song her latte.

“You wouldn’t mind answering a few questions, would you, Bertie?”

* * *

 

Sitting at a booth in the back of the room, Detective Song pulls up a picture of Anthony Harris from the Internet on her phone and shows it to Bertie, who’s sitting across from her. “Have you seen this man?”

Bertie wrings his hands nervously, “Yes, I have. He’s one of the Harrises.” Bertie chuckles, but it comes off as uneasy instead of casual.

“No shit. I know I phrased that wrong, Bertie, but I need you to tell me if he’s been in your coffee shop before.”

Dick watches from where he’s standing beside the booth. As Bertie takes his time to answer, Dick flits his eyes to the nearly empty coffee shop. Although it’s early in the morning, Dick spots three people inside, two tired college students, and a woman who must have finished a morning run. No, make that four people. The fourth person is radically different-looking from the other three customers.

“Yes, he has,” Bertie admits, interrupting Dick’s examination of the room. “He was a regular customer here.”

“Was he here earlier today?”

“Yes, he was.”

Detective Song waves her hand at Dick, telling him to write in his notepad. “What time?”

“Four o’clock. He’d always come in at this time when I’m on my late night shift.” Dick starts writing down the information coming up in this conversation.

“And did you notice anything suspicious while he was here?”

Bertie hesitates again, and Dick looks for the different-looking fourth person. She’s sitting in a booth close to the opposite end of the room, wearing a baggy jacket with its hood pulled over her head. She’s using the hood to hide her face, but Dick can see the watchful eyes under the hood. Perhaps she’s curious about the police officer and detective in the coffee shop - after all, the other three patrons are casting too-long glances at Dick and Detective Song - but she doesn’t have a drink or food item nearby. The woman is looking only at Dick now, and Dick seems to be locked in a standoff with her, each of them trying to figure the other out.

“He looked nervous, more than usual,” Bertie blurts out. Dick reluctantly goes back to writing.

“Nervous, huh?”

“The kid was a wreck. I mean, given his family…” Bertie shakes his head and swallows, “But yes, he looked afraid, like something was going to happen.”

“And did anything happen?”

Dick glances up at the woman in the booth and sees that she’s leaning forward ever so slightly in her seat. She’s _listening_.

Bertie’s attitude begins to break down. “Yes. He threatened me to not tell.”

“Who?”

“I - I don’t know. He came in - he was wearing a mask-”

“What did the mask look like?”

“It was orange and black, half-and-half.” Bertie sighs shakily, “He pointed a gun at me and told me to go in the back room, and I did. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Bertie,” Detective Song says sympathetically, “your life was threatened, and you reacted like any other person would.”

“You have to protect me. This guy, he didn’t look like any regular criminal. He’s dangerous, I swear.”

Detective Song purses her lips, “I’ll try.” She gets out of the booth, “I’ll have a sketch artist come in and ask for a description. Thank you for the coffee, Bertie.” Detective Song walks away, and Bertie buries his face in his hands.

Dick stays stationary, looking back at the woman in the other booth. She’s not looking at Dick now. Her expression remains impassive, but Dick can see the white-knuckle grip his hands have on each other.

“Grayson, are you coming?” Detective Song calls out, but Dick ignores her. He walks over to the woman’s table and sets his hand on it firmly. The woman startles slightly, but she slowly looks up at him. Up close, Dick can see that the jacket isn’t intentionally baggy, but is actually too big for the presumably-petite woman. Strands of raven-black hair peek out from under the hood. The woman’s eyes are a deep blue, almost indigo, and despite the woman’s calm expression, Dick can see the true emotions in those eyes - fear and anger.

“What do you know?” he asks, loud enough for only her to hear. 

“Grayson, what are you doing?”

The woman quickly slides out of the booth, and although he doesn’t see her hands extend, Dick could swear that he was just pushed. He stumbles backward and regains his footing as the woman runs out the back.

“I got her!” he exclaims to the approaching Song as he starts to run.

* * *

 

Dick runs through the back room that’s filled with shelves of unopened packages of coffee grounds and other ingredients. Just ahead is the woman.

“Hey, stop!” Dick calls out. The woman keeps running, however. She makes a shelf fall, but her hand barely ghosted the shelf. Dick jumps over the fallen shelf with ease, and the woman sees this over her shoulder. She runs faster, but so does Dick.

They emerge onto an alley different from the one where Anthony was murdered. The hood on the woman’s head falls down from the wind blowing through the alley. Dick pushes himself to run faster, the wind stinging his face. He closes in on the woman, but then she stops and turns.

Dick’s felt the feeling of being thrown before, but he still manages to get the breath knocked out of him. He looks down at his chest and sees a black band clutching him and pinning him to the wall. The band looks otherworldly or like a projection. Dick tries to move, but the band’s grip only tightens. Dick looks up and sees the woman, the same dark energy surrounding her clenched fists.

“Don’t. Move,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Listen, I’m just trying to help. Clearly, you know something I don’t.”

“Leave me alone. This isn’t your fight, Robin.”

And just like that, the woman disappears in a circle of black. The band around Dick dissipates, and he’s left standing in the alley, trying to catch his breath and comprehend what just happened.

Someone knows who Dick Grayson really is.

**Author's Note:**

> (Soooo, who else thinks the Titans show looks terrible? I made this fanfic to express what I'd want for a Titans show, but I'm trying to do my best to stay in line with canon. Kudos and comments are much appreciated, so don't be afraid to drop some :))


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